


A Frightful Flashback

by CourageousGryffindor



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst, Heavy Trigger Warning in Effect, Hostile Hospital, Missing Scene, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 15:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14595582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourageousGryffindor/pseuds/CourageousGryffindor
Summary: Contained within these virtual pages is the missing scene of one Violet Baudelaire during her capture at Heimlich Hospital.It is not a happy scene and I warn all those who wish to venture further.But while the scene itself may not be happy, it is also not the end.  It is but one of many pieces, not all of which are terrible, that make up the lives of the Baudelaire orphans.





	A Frightful Flashback

**Author's Note:**

> A Note to Readers:
> 
> First, I would like to note that certain parts of the following text do not come from my own imagination, but rather are based on the dialogue of a certain streaming television show on Netflix. I trust that my readers will be able to distinguish these bits of dialogue for themselves.
> 
> Second, I would like to note the reasons for even writing such a terrible and triggering scene at all. 
> 
> The following scene is only part of a larger story that is currently in the works and set to be released sometime soon. I have released this particular work early as I truly believe that it is too important to keep hidden on my computer, awaiting some distant perhaps unreachable day when it could be shared.
> 
> I wrote this scene not out of some sick and twisted desire, but because I have always yearned to feel a little less alone. When I was young, something terrible happened to me. About that same time I read A Series of Unfortunate Events and immediately latched onto Violet Baudelaire. It was not just that she was cool and inventive and brave, but I felt in her a kindred spirit. I too had been called "pretty" by men much older than myself. 
> 
> This scene is a way for me to solidify this connection, to help me work through a lot of issues by putting myself in the company of one of the greatest heroines of my childhood. 
> 
> The story that I am currently working on won't focus on these events, but rather will show the greater life that the Baudelaires have built together. But you cannot fully build a life without first acknowledging all those experiences, both good and bad, that make you who you are.
> 
> Writing about Violet's experience has helped remind me that I am not alone in dealing with these unfortunate events of my past. 
> 
> I hope that you find the same thing when you read it.

At this point in my writing I find it necessary to call upon a literary device known as the flashback.  Flashbacks, though tedious to both writers and readers, are sometimes necessary in order to fully understand the gravity of current events.  The word "gravity" is used here to refer to the underlying importance of certain events and not to the invisible force that keeps each of us from flying off into space. 

The necessity of the flashback for this narrative has made its inclusion unavoidable for me as the writer, but that does not mean that you, as the reader, need to endure it.  The flashback in question contains events which many may see as "triggering" or "disturbing" and, as a result, those who do not wish to read further need only skip ahead to the continuation of the present story.  While including such a terrible piece of history is necessary to understanding just how Violet felt in her current circumstances, it is possible to still catch a glimpse of understanding concerning her plight using the various clues and suggestions that I have left throughout this narrative.  For those who would rather skip ahead and avoid the following unpleasantness, a choice with which I greatly sympathize, I have clearly marked the beginning and ending of this flashback so that you do not have to endure any of its contents.

For those few souls who have decided to foolishly continue forth and read this particularly troubling and triggering portion of my tale, I say this:  you have been warned.

 

BEGIN FLASHBACK

Violet struggled against Count Olaf's headlock.  She twisted and turned as though her erratic movements would help her escape his villainous clutches. 

"Quit squirming, brat!" Spat Olaf.

But Violet continued to squirm as Count Olaf dragged her along the dismal and dilapidated hallway.  One of his greasy hands was twisted around her head and mouth, preventing her from crying out for help, and the other was wrapped around her waste, keeping her arms fast to her side.

Violet felt sick as they approached a door marked Room 922.

Olaf paused outside the door.  Violet could not see what was going on as Olaf's grasp kept her head pointed to the side.  His other hand loosened its grip on her waste and slid down her side. "It's a shame, really, I'd always hoped that we'd be able to keep you," he whispered into her ear, his nasty breathe tickling her cheek as his hand stroked across her hip, lingering a little too long on her thigh.

Violet closed her eyes against his treachery and when she opened them again the door to Room 922 had been opened and she was thrown to the floor inside. 

A sharp pain spread across Violet's side as she landed on the cold linoleum tiles.  "You won't get away with this," she shouted as Count Olaf stepped into the room, his shadow blocking out the light.

"Oh my dear, Violet," he cooed, leaning down so that he was inches from her face, his wicked hand coming up to caress her cheek, "I already have."  Straightening up, he turned to his associates. "Get the bed ready."

"The bed?" It was a question directed more to herself than anyone else but before she could consider what he could mean, Violet was being pulled roughly to her feet by the hook-handed man and dragged to a gurney in the corner.  She didn't dare fight against him for fear of slicing herself on one of his hooks.

The eldest Baudelaire was thrown onto the bed and held down by Olaf's associates as they strapped each of her limbs into the hospital restraints.  "There's no use screaming.  You're in a hospital, screams are completely normal here," said Olaf as he watched his associates work. When they had finished their work, Olaf and his associates left the room, slamming the door behind them.

Unfortunately for Violet, that was not the end of this terrible and triggering flashback.  Count Olaf made one more visit to Room 922 before he set his scheme into motion and it was this visit about which I have warned you, dear readers.

Violet had been struggling for several hours against the restraints that held her to the bed.  Red marks stretched across her wrists and ankles from where the leather straps dug into her skin.  If you have ever had the unfortunate experience of breaking in new dress shoes then you have probably experienced a similar sensation on the back of your ankle after a long day of walking around. 

But like new dress shoes at a fancy dress party, the hospital restraints attached around Violet Baudelaire's wrists and ankles were not about to break loose anytime soon. 

The door to the room swung open and Count Olaf slipped inside.  Violet glared resolutely, a word which means with much determination and bravery, at the ceiling as he slunk down into the chair beside her bed.

"Comfy?"

"You won't get away with this," said Violet, hoping that she sounded more fearless than fearful, "we've stopped you every time. My siblings will find me."

Olaf laughed a cold, high-pitched wheezing laugh.  "Oh I'm counting on it."

Violet tried to hide the fact that she felt as though a hole had been punched out of her stomach.

"It's only a matter of time," Olaf continued, "before your brainy brother and that biting brat follow my clues.  Oh, they'll think they're rescuing their poor sister but really they're just be heading straight into my clutches." 

"Just take me!" pleaded Violet, straining against the straps of the bed. "You only need one Baudelaire to get the fortune and you already have me.  Just let Klaus and Sunny go and I'll do whatever you want."

"That’s…tempting," said Olaf as his shiny eyes glanced Violet up and down, "very tempting.  But you see, Violet, you are much too volatile.  That means I can't trust you not to get clever and run off."  The grin faded suddenly from his face and he leaned in so close that Violet could smell his rancid breathe. "And besides, I'll no longer be satisfied with just stealing your fortune.  Oh no. I will not stop until I have torn you and your siblings limb from limb."

It has now become necessary to use the phrase "a pregnant pause." This is not to say that the silence that followed Count Olaf's threats was about to have a child, but rather that the silence between the captor and the captured was heavy with tension and strain.  If you have ever stood in front of someone you hated then you will have probably experienced a pause pregnant with tension as you both tried not to scream.

There was a pregnant pause as Olaf stood up and glared down at the eldest Baudelaire.

"What are you going to do to me?" Violet asked, her voice shaking only slightly.

Olaf didn't answer right away.  Instead he grinned and pulled a long, rusty knife from inside his lab coat. "You have two options.  The first," said Olaf, holding up one long finger, "is that you do what I say.  The second," here he held up the long, rusty knife and began running it along the metal siding of the bed "is that I slice you open with this knife right now and let your smarty-pants siblings discover your bloody corpse as they fall right into my trap."

Violet's next words seemed to stick to the back of her mouth, "What do you want me to do?"

Laughing, Olaf started to prowl around the bed, undoing Violet's restraints as he went.

It seemed too good to be true, that Count Olaf was just going to just let her go free. At least that's how Violet saw her circumstances as she eyed the Count wearily.  And if you have read this far into the lives of the Baudelaires you'll know, as Violet soon would know, that it was indeed, too good to be true. 

"Get up!" Olaf commanded, using the long, rusty knife to point to the empty space beside the bed.

Trying to seem braver than she felt, a difficult task for even the most seasoned volunteers, Violet got off the bed.  Out of habit, her hand immediately went to her pocket to grab her ribbon.

"I'll start by taking that!" Olaf snatched the ribbon out of her hand. "Now get changed, orphan, before I get impatient." He tossed her a white hospital gown and leaned against bed, waving the knife through the air as though he were conducting some twisted and evil orchestra.

Violet glanced down at the gown in her hands, unsure of what to make of it or the situation. Finally, she asked the only question she could think of: "Why?"

It turns out that this was a very wrong question, indeed.

Count Olaf pushed off the bed frame and rose to his full height, towering over Violet. "I did not ask you to ask stupid questions. I _asked_ for you to change into this dressing gown that has been so graciously provided for you.  Now don't make me ask you again!" With the final words, Olaf slashed out with the long, rusty knife.  Violet's arm instinctively flew up to shield her face, coming in the path of the knife.

A thin line of red appeared where the knife had sliced into her skin.  Resisting the urge to grimace in pain, she glared at Olaf as he leaned back against the bed frame. But as she slowly began to take off her shirt, she found that she could no longer continue to look at her captor and so turned away.

Olaf, on the other, continued to stare at Violet. His gaze never wavered as he brought her ribbon up to his nose and inhaled deeply.

Violet felt like she was going to be sick.

If you have ever felt someone's eyes following you as you walk past, particularly if you are walking down a dark and lonely street, then you will have some idea of how Violet Baudelaire felt in this moment.  It is not an easy feeling to describe though many have attempted it, using phrases such as "goosebumps" or "makes the skin crawl." But as many women, some men, and very many people who are neither one or the other will tell you, these phrases nowhere near capture the sensation of cold that spreads through the body.  It is as though a giant egg has been cracked open on your head; it is strangle and sudden and you feel as though you are engulfed with a cold, wet yolk.

With this terrible sense of cold, dripping wetness usually also comes a feeling of vulnerability.  It is not a vulnerability of the heart, where one feels as though one's innermost feelings and thoughts have been laid bare, but rather it is the vulnerability that is so often felt when one is completely or, as in Violet's case, partially undressed.

Violet tried to mental shake the cold, wet feeling of vulnerability as she finished getting changed into the hospital gown, her clothes lying discarded on the ground at her feet.  Olaf smiled and walked slowly over to where Violet stood.  Standing just behind her, he bent down and whispered gently in her ear, "Get in the bed."

Violet felt the edge of the long, rusty knife stroking her injured arm.  All around her the world seemed to buzz with an energy that made it difficult to breathe.  In her head echoed a word like the sound of a distant hotel clock, "WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!" 

There are a very many reasons why Violet should not have followed Olaf's command.  Sadly, the reasons for her, and others in situations similar to hers, to follow such terrible orders were much more convincing.  Such reasons could include the presence of a long, rusty knife.  But it may also be because the villainous person is someone you know and trusted or perhaps it is someone you don't know and everything in the world seems so wrong that you just follow along because there's nothing else for you to do.  There are many terrible and convincing reasons for someone to do something that they don't want to do.

With much anxiety, Violet climbed onto the bed.  She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Why don't you lie down with me?" Olaf's voice had become like sour honey. Violet wanted to cry but couldn't.  Her tears, like her blood, were frozen.  Instead of saying anything she simply shook her head.

Olaf smiled a sweet and sour smile and brought the long, rusty knife up to rest of Violet's knee. "It wasn't a question," he warned.

Unable to think of anything else to do as her brain fought to grasp hold of her circumstances, Violet slowly slid down next to Count Olaf.  Lying flat on her back, Violet determinedly fixed her eyes to the ceiling.  She began to count the tiles as she felt the cold blade of the knife rest on her upper arm and the gentle pressure of Olaf as he turned on his side to face her.

"I know I was never the best guardian," Olaf began, the hand not holding the knife coming to rest on Violet's knee just below the edge of the gown, "but I think there are still many things you can learn from me."  His hand began to slide up.

Violet counted the tiles.

_One. Two. Three._

"We don't have much time together but you're a growing woman, Violet, and there are things you need to know about."  She could feel his cold, spindly hand on her bare thigh.

_Four. Five. Six._

"Thing I had hoped to teach you."

_Eight. Nine._

"There are so many terrible people out there.  People who would take advantage of you." There was a pressure between her legs.  _Seven._   She'd missed seven. _Seven. Eight. Breathe._

She couldn't breathe.

The pressure changed as his hand moved. "It's my job, as your former guardian, to teach you to avoid such terrible, awful people."

_Seven. Seven. What came after seven?_

"But in order to teach you properly, I'll have to show you what they'll do to you." His thumb played with her waist band.

Violet's eyes couldn't focus.  The ceiling tiles melted together.  She was lying under a pale sky.

"So you'll know what can happen." His fingers slipped under and traveled against her bare skin.

_Was it always this hard to breathe? And who was screaming inside her head?_

"Though it's not like you have much time left anyways."

_One. Two. Three._

The walkie-talkie in Count Olaf's pocket crackled and Esme's voice came piercing through the foggy veil of reality that surrounded Violet.

_Four. Five. Six._

Olaf grumbled and sat up, pulling the walkie from his pocket. "What do you want?"

_Seven. Eight. Nine._

"Fine! I'll be right there!"

_Ten. Eleven. Twelve._

Count Olaf slid off the bed before turning back to look at Violet.  "Looks like our lesson is going to be cut short I'm afraid."  Olaf's hand reached up to stroke a strand of Violet's hair as he leaned over and kissed her on the lips before leaving the room.

_Twelve. Twelve. Twelve._

Violet suddenly shot up and dry heaved over the side of the bed, her head coming to rest of the bars.  She stayed like that for a while, savoring the feeling of the cold metal bed rail against her cheek.  Olaf had forgotten to strap her back to the bed but Violet wasn't going anywhere.  How could she walk when she couldn't feel anything from the waste down.  Curling up on her side, Violet finally felt the first tears come to her eyes. 

She had no idea how much time passed before the white-faced women returned to prepare her for surgery.

END FLASHBACK

 

If you have finished this much of Violet's terrible and triggering tale then I applaud your resolve.  If you find yourself relating too closely to the above events, as I myself have, then I highly suggest that you find a trusted friend or family member to speak to.  Like Violet, we usually must face such events alone.  But that does not mean that we must live with it alone.

When it comes to these events we are never as alone as we feel.  And I would like to encourage my readers to remember that fact and find strength.

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot overstate the importance of talking to someone about past trauma. For years I kept what happened to me quiet, too afraid that talking about it would make it real. But admitting the truth to a friend was one of the best decisions I've ever made.
> 
> Since that night I have finally begun to heal. 
> 
> Healing is not an easy journey but it is so worth it. My inbox is always open if you need somewhere to start.


End file.
